


The Taste of Smoke

by ObsidianJade



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post 423, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianJade/pseuds/ObsidianJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-See now, this was the problem with napping on park benches.- </p>
<p>An unexpected meeting forces Ichigo to acknowledge his identity crisis. Set during post-423 timeskip but draws off manga 406/anime 301.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Rather random Gin piece that came to me, back around the original posting date of December 2010. If the story is confusing, well... it’s Gin. I love him, but when is he not confusing? 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach and make no profit from this work. Tite Kubo is a god and I am merely playing in his world.
> 
> I also disclaim any responsibility for the (unwise) decisions of the characters and their smoking habits. Smoking is a filthy, disgusting thing and I wish they would stop lighting up in my head, but what can I do? Apparently I have nicotine-addicted plot bunnies.

“You were trying to save my life.”

See now, this was the problem with napping on park benches. People either assumed you were a vagrant and complained about it, or assumed that you were there waiting to listen to them make erroneous assumptions about your innate _goodness_. Yuck. 

Slitting open one eye, Ichimaru Gin surveyed the young man standing before him for a long moment before snorting softly and blinking his eye closed again. “Sure. ‘Cause ‘m jus’ that nice,” he drawled sarcastically, and stretched down a little farther on the bench. 

“I’m serious.” Much to Gin’s annoyance, his current conversation partner didn’t seem inclined to take the invitation to _please go away_. Rather the opposite, actually; the boy strode forward, dropping into a low crouch that brought him nearly level with Gin. “In the last battle against Aizen, when you were on the field, telling me how weak I was, telling me what a disappointment I’d be and how I should run. You were trying to save my life.”

“Mmhm. You been sufferin’ from these delusions long?” It was probably a mistake, actually answering the kid - he shouldn’t have encouraged him - but what else was he going to do, lie there and let the kid insult him? 

Acting as though Gin was a decent enough person to want to save people. Honestly, now. 

“Dammit, Ichimaru, why do you have to be such an ass?”

Well, maybe the kid wasn’t as delusional as he’d thought.

“I’m trying to say thank you!”

Then again...

Sighing softly, Gin opened both eyes just enough to peer at the boy through the silver fringe of his eyelashes. Even lying here in the shade, the sunlight was still bright enough to hurt. The fact that the damn kid’s hair seemed just as vibrant as the afternoon sun didn’t help. “Wha’ makes y’ think I wasn’ doin’ it cause I wan’ed t’ kill Souske m’self?”

“Because if you’d done it purely to kill Aizen, that would make you the savior of the entire world,” Ichigo answered. “Both of them, actually. If you did it just to save me, that’s a lot less glory.”

“Says th’ kid that saves th’ world,” Gin countered, but grimaced slightly. Much as he hated to admit it, the kid was actually kinda right. “Maybe I jus’ din’ like ‘im.”

Ichigo smirked a little. Distantly, Gin wished he still had Shinsou. It would have been quite satisfying to make the kid think Gin would cut the smirk off his face.

“Fine,” Gin sighed, closing his eyes again and dropping his head back onto his hands. “Y’ thanked me. Now go ‘way an’ lemme finish m’ nap, mmkay?”

Ichigo didn’t answer; Gin let the silence drag out between them, hoping the kid would take his cue and bugger off. When there was no sound of movement, however, Gin eventually cracked an eye again and glowered. “Yer still here.”

“Why are you in a gigai?” Ichigo answered, except it wasn’t an answer at all, because the fact that he was _still here_ was hardly a question, and who answers a statement with a question? 

Well, other than Gin, anyway. And apparently Ichigo. 

“Wha’ makes y’ think ‘m in a gigai?”

Ichigo snorted at that, as though it had been a joke. “Apparently you missed the memo, Ichimaru. I can’t see spirits anymore. My powers are gone.” 

The words were flat and emotionless - _just facts, nothing more_ \- and Gin frowned a little, because it was the same tone that he heard people take when they couldn’t feel what they were talking about without it breaking them. 

Ichigo either took the lack of response as encouragement, or he simply needed to unburden himself. Maybe a little of both. “My sister, Karin. She sees ghosts, now.” The _like I used to_ went unsaid, but it was easy enough to hear in the warm, wavering air.

Sighing, Gin surrendered any thoughts of sleeping and slowly dragged himself into a sitting position, bracing his back against the corner of the bench. He hated this body, this dull, heavy physical form. It was supposed to be some sort of mercy, letting him live, but there really wasn’t a lot of mercy in spending the rest of his days in a glorified doll. “She gonna take over yer Shinigami duties, too?”

“Gods, no!” The response was nearly violent, wide, shocked eyes staring at him for a second before dimming again, sadness dragging them down at the corners. “At least, I hope not. She’s too young.”

“Mmm.” Digging into his sleeve, Gin extracted a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. “An’ you weren’t?” 

“I never said that.” Amber eyes followed the motion of Gin’s hands for a moment, narrowing in something like contempt. “That’s a disgusting habit, you know.”

Gin snickered, offered the smoke he was holding to Ichigo instead; the boy slapped it away. Both of them watched the little white stick arc through the air to land in the grass a short distance away, then glanced back at each other, not quite certain how to react.

Finally shrugging, Gin tapped out another cigarette and lit it, crushing the match out against one of the fading sword-calluses on his palm. “Yer dad smokes,” he pointed out, waving a hand for emphasis. The faint trail of smoke from the cigarette tracked the motion like a phantom afterimage. 

“My dad smokes _once a year_ ,” Ichigo shot back, his eyes narrowed, somehow hating the fact that someone who shouldn’t have known anything about his family recalled that unimportant little fact.

“Once a year? He’s cut back,” Gin answered noncommittally, and Ichigo’s fists clenched at the easy tone. 

“How the fuck would you know, anyway?” the teen spat, suddenly furious, and Gin smirked, drawing a long drag on the cigarette and exhaling the smoke into Ichigo’s face. 

“Fer bein’ th’ one a’ us with yer eyes open, y’ don’ use ‘em very well, do ya?” he smirked, as Ichigo furiously struck at the air in front of him to disperse the smoke. “Yer dad was one a’ th’ Gotei, r’member?”

Silence. Gin waited, patient, as Ichigo stayed crouched on the grass before him, eyes blazing and fists clenched, a muscle leaping in his jaw as he decided just how to rip the other man apart - 

...and then he simply... collapsed. Every muscle in his body went lax, leaving the boy to slump to the ground, the anger fleeing his eyes as he sat, harsh breaths tearing through his mouth as his anger turned to anguish in a second. 

“He was a Captain.” Considering how broken Ichigo looked, his voice was admirably level. Gin nodded slightly, and Ichigo seemed to register the movement even with his gaze on the ground beneath his folded legs. 

“Of what Division? The Seventh, maybe? The Tenth?”

“Th’ Tenth,” Gin answered softly, and Ichigo heaved another shaking breath before slowly drawing himself up again, his eyes squeezed shut. Gin wondered, briefly, if he was trying to block out the sights of the present or the memories of the past “Y’ should ask ‘im abou’ it. He lost his powers, too, yanno.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just...” shaking his head, Ichigo threaded his hands through his hair, clenching, as though the pain helped to ground him. Maybe it did. “I don’t know what I am anymore, Ichimaru. _I don’t know who I am._ ”

The confession seemed torn out of him, leaving the boy shaking with the pain of it; Gin clucked his tongue gently as he slid off the bench, dropping to a crouch before the boy. 

“Hey, hey. Open yer eyes, Ichi-kun. What y’ are is right in front a’ ya.”

Those eyes, those frantic, desperate amber eyes opened wide, and Gin met his gaze squarely, giving the boy the full force of his baby blues. Then he leaned forward, pressed a kiss to the tip of Ichigo’s nose, and sauntered away while Ichigo was still sputtering.

He dropped the cigarettes in a garbage can on the way out of the park. He’d always hated the taste of smoke.


End file.
